


HCs. Getting lost

by SevlinRipley



Category: It - All Media Types
Genre: Camping, Canon Jewish Character, Friendship, Headcanon, Jealousy, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-03
Updated: 2018-05-03
Packaged: 2019-05-18 01:51:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14843330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SevlinRipley/pseuds/SevlinRipley
Summary: Richie's getting serious with his girlfriend, and Stan isn't as prepared to deal with that as he was hoping.





	HCs. Getting lost

  * Richie started dating this girl, and she’s nice; it’s fine.
  * But then he invites her on the camping trip with the rest of the Losers. Which must mean Richie’s fairly serious about her.
  * That he cares about her more than any of them really realized, until they see her pack physically being loaded into the back of the Jeep Richie’s riding in.
  * The other Losers don’t realize it’s a mistake that Bev, Bill, Ben, and Eddie have all claimed their places in the other car. Leaving Stan, Mike, Richie, and his girlfriend together.
  * And normally Mike’s presence would be a huge buffer if Stanley was just feeling kind of on edge about something, thereby making Richie more of a nuisance than usual.
  * But Stan’s not feeling _kind of_ on edge, about _just_ anything.
  * Richie’s sweet with her. He holds her hand, fingers clasped together between them. She laughs at his jokes.
  * Mike hums along to the car radio, and then belts out the chorus of nearly every song, and occasionally Richie joins in.
  * Something that would normally make Stan’s cheeks budge up in an uncontainable smile.
  * But not today. Today he’s rolling his eyes, and slumping into the car door with his head vibrating against the window, mouth twitching down at the corner when _she_ has the nerve to sing along with them.
  * Richie notices, of course. It’s Stanley, after all.
  * So he kicks the back of Stan’s seat a couple different times on the way up, and pokes at the back of Stan’s head, in the gap between the seat and the car. But Stanley refuses to even _snap_ at him.
  * Which is disconcerting to say the least, but Richie can’t exactly hash out the problems of the world in private, when there’s two other people locked into the same space as them. So when Stanley doesn’t give, Richie finally huffs out a breath and focuses on being happy with or without Stan’s permission.
  * If he’s gonna be such a child about it.


  * Once they get to the camp site, Richie thinks he’s gonna pull Stanley off to the side and ask him what the fuck is wrong.
  * But Stan’s acting like he doesn’t exist, pulling out of Richie’s grasp like Richie’s made of air, and wrestling his pack out of the car in a way that’s making things much more difficult than they have to be.
  * Richie can see Stanley’s cheeks burning because he knows it, too. Knows he’s looking like an ass right about now, in front of someone new. Someone who doesn’t know that normally Stanley’s all put together. Someone who’ll misjudge him and think he’s some clumsy oaf…
  * “Do you want help?” Richie asks, low, under his breath, from Stanley’s side. His girlfriend has her head ducked away, like she feels bad for Stan and is trying to give him his privacy until he gets his shit together. Which is even _more_ humiliating.
  * Stan drops the strap of his bag and begins walking off in _some_ direction. Which, fine. Until Richie realizes he’s going to _keep_ walking, and there’s no trail over there, and just what the fuck does Stan think he’s doing?
  * “ _Hey_! Buddy system? Ever heard of it?” Richie shouts after him. Catching the attention of several others. But Richie’s the closest, once he starts jogging, to catch up. “What the fuck’s wrong, _Stanley_?”
  * But he doesn’t turn, or regard Richie in any kind of way. Just keeps walking. Richie trailing behind him, nearly tripping several times over fallen limbs. His glasses nearly falling off his nose and into the wet, rotted leaves of the forest floor.
  * Richie tries to give him the time; he really does, but much too late, he realizes they’ve walked so far he can’t see or hear any of the others, and truthfully he’s not sure which way is camp, anymore.
  * He glances behind himself, forlorn, one last time, and then finally grabs Stan by the upper arm so forcefully he _has_ to stop.
  * “ _What is with you?_ ”
  * “ _I don’t know!_ ” Stan finally snaps, shrieks, whatever. At least it’s _something_.
  * But he _does_ know. Stan knows. Stan always knows more than he should, about everything. Knows too much for his own good. And Richie, although often amused by it, also gets a little pissed off on Stan’s behalf, that he knows so damn much.
  * “Come on, Stan… It’s me. Fucking - just talk to me.”
  * It sucks when Stan won’t even look at him. At least he’s stopped moving though. And he pulls away from Richie’s hand, just to slump down on top of a log, hands on his knobby knees, back slightly hunched. Suddenly the underneath of his eyes look a little hollowed out.
  * “Fine,” Richie says, eventually, hands on his hips, looking all around them. “At least tell me you know which way camp is, so that I don’t have to start building us a shelter and fire.”
  * Stan purses his lips at that, finally looking up. Eyes a little wide.
  * Richie exhales, ragged, and - “Fuck.”
  * “Think they’ll hear if we yell?” Stan asks, a bitter little laugh to his voice.
  * “Doubt it. We’re probably gonna d*e out here…”
  * “Good. At least when we decompose we’ll enrich the soil.”
  * ‘Good’ Richie mutters under his breath, shaking his head. “Fuck you, Stanley.”
  * Stanley’s brow twitches together at that. It’s not a jovial ‘fuck off with your dark humor - what a nerd’. It’s genuine. Makes one side of his nose twitch up in disgust. Self-disgust. That he’s been able to make Richie say something like that in earnest. _To him_.
  * He’s about two seconds from getting up and walking again. Wherever his feet will take him, when Richie crouches before him, hands covering his own on his knees, and looking up into Stan’s eyes.
  * Cheeks going red, Stanley thinks about looking away, but there’s something magnetic in Richie’s eyes.
  * “Enough of that bullshit. _What_. Is going on?”
  * Jaw tightening, Stan’s eyes flicker down to their hands, and he swallows harshly. “I… think I’m - unhappy that you’re … serious about someone. Okay?”
  * Richie’s quiet for a long moment, then barks out a laugh, falling into the damp muck of the ground, on his ass. He claps his hands together once as he says, “Good one, Stanley. I mean it’s fucked up you’d mess with my feelings like that, but seriously that’s a -” Stan’s eyes are narrowed at him, face set in stone, unamused. “Oh.”
  * Shoulders dropping, Richie ignores the wet seeping into his shorts, and crosses his legs together. Picks up a leaf and begins shredding it, dropping its parts into the gap of his legs.
  * “Stan…”
  * “I know. I’m sorry,” Stanley starts. Sighing long-suffering, and _actually_ apologetic. The inconvenience of it all is unbearable.
  * “Look,” Richie says, sighing, himself, “Even if I didn’t care about you, or - that - you’d find someone else. You’d go on to find someone else to love, who’d love the _heck_ out of you, too. So being jealous isn’t gonna _help_ anything.”
  * “If?” Stan asks, brow knit together, as he pulls his eyes up to meet Richie’s.
  * Richie isn’t smiling, which isn’t great.
  * But he says, “Yeah… As it so happens, I care about that a whole heck of a lot. And… about you. But I’d have to find a way to - I don’t want to hurt her, you know? She’s sweet, and supportive. Patient. She doesn’t deserve…” Richie stops himself, looking down at his hands, bespeckled with dirt and leaf particles.
  * Stan swallows thickly around the lump in his throat and looks away. “You’re not gonna break up with her; you shouldn’t. Not if you - but you _do_ care about me?” The same way. The same way as Stan cares about _him_.
  * “I don’t know, Stanley. You - Even if you never found someone to be with, there are other ways to be happy. You gotta be happy with yourself, man. Seriously… I can’t fucking stand this shit anymore.”
  * Stan goes silent, thinking. This little indent between his eyebrows becoming more prominent, and Richie’s heart swells at the sight of it.
  * He sits up on his knees, and covers Stan’s hands with his own, again.
  * Looking up from beneath his lashes, Stan says, low and soft and almost pleading, “I’m happy a lot of the time…”
  * “I know, Stan,” Richie says, softly. “But you’ve got some dark shit up there,” Richie says, tapping the side of Stan’s head, mouth a wry smile, “And I can’t fix it for you.”
  * Richie’s smile falters, and then he’s standing up, shoving his hands into his pockets and turning away.
  * “Every time something goes wrong, or you get scared… you get all hopeless, and… I’m not okay with it. I never have been, and I never will be. You have to find a way to fight for something. Cause if we were together and we got in a fight, or… god forbid, we broke up? What would happen then, Stanley? You gonna go on a downward spiral? I don’t wanna be responsible for that. I love you too god damn much to watch that happen.”
  * “ _Richie_.” It sounds so broken, Richie could almost cry.
  * _As if_ Stanley didn’t know Richie loved him… As a friend, or otherwise. What? Was Richie supposed to say it all the time, just lay it all out every day of the week?
  * Didn’t he say it every time he nudged Stan with an elbow or knee, or knocked the side of his head into Stan’s shoulder? Or when he’d laugh at Stan’s ridiculous jokes, brush his knuckles gently over the top of Stan’s head in a faux-noogie.
  * “I’m not asking you to be full of sunshine all the time,” Richie tells him, voice a little wrecked with the emotion clawing at his throat, making it ache right along with his chest. “I’m just asking… I’m just begging you, man: Find someone who _knows_ how to help. So if something happens - cause it always does - your knee-jerk reaction won’t be that it’s as good a day as any to - d*e. Cause I can’t take it…”
  * “If you can do that for me. Find some help - then … _God_ ,” Richie says, interrupting himself and getting his hand up under his glasses to rub roughly at his eyes.
  * “I’m not trying to give you an ultimatum, or say you’re not worth it as you are. You’re - _more_ than worth it, Stan. It just kills me… I’m sorry but it does, and I can’t go into something knowing that - that it might not be good for us. I’d want it to have _a fucking chance_ , Stanley. _You know that, right?_ ”
  * Stan’s hands are rubbing nervously over the curves of his knees. His breathing is a little stilted, chest heaving slightly as he takes it in and tries to blink back the sting in his eyes.
  * …He didn’t really realize. That he was affecting anyone else. That his mood shifts… were really doing anything outside of himself.
  * “You want me to find a therapist?” he asks, and hates himself, a little, for how childlike he sounds, how caught out.
  * “Don’t make it sound like a bad thing, Stan, come on…” Richie says, soft, as he turns back to Stanley, and places a warm, large hand over the crown of Stan’s head, fingers just slightly anchoring in. “Hell… I’ve been seeing a therapist for years.”
  * Stanley flinches, and looks up at that, jarring Richie’s hand. “You - what?”
  * “Yeah,” Richie says on a laugh. “I guess it wasn’t very smart of me not to tell you guys. Sort of projecting the stigma myself, huh?” Richie rolls his eyes at himself, and then sits beside Stan, pressed against him all the way up his side.
  * “And if you don’t want to go alone, you don’t have to… I’d go in a heartbeat. And if you don’t want me - understandably - any of the others would, too. Personally, I’m not sure why we don’t have group therapy together anyway.”
  * “I really am sorry, Richie,” Stan says, eyes staring out in front of him at nothing, though he’s clearly watching something play out in his head.
  * Richie presses his shoulder into Stan’s. “Don’t be. Under healthier circumstances, this would be the best day of my fucking life. I just need some time to figure out how… to tell her. I _do_ care about her.” A lot.
  * “I know. I can tell. That’s why it’s so - scary, to me.”
  * Richie swallows, thick, and then lets out a ragged breath. “Nothing could ever come between me and you guys, though,” Richie tells him. As grave as anything he’s ever said in his life.
  * He’d always choose them over anyone else. And Stan… Jesus, he’d loved Stan for so long… it wasn’t even really a question.
  * Stan thinks about saying, ‘Well, we’re still gonna die out here, so it doesn’t really matter.’ But thins his lips together until something better comes up. “So? Shelter and fire? Screaming our heads off? Which is it?”
  * Richie gives him a warm, proud, and appreciative smile before rising and turning back toward where they’d come from, hand cupped to his mouth and about ready to blow his lungs apart with an attempted shout.
  * When he sees Ben peeking out from behind a tree, looking bashful and apprehensive.
  * Richie’s chest tightens, and Stan turns to look, curious as to the lack of follow-through.
  * He blushes harder than he ever has in his life, before, when he sees Ben, too.
  * But then Richie is stumbling over the log, toward Ben - and seeing the gorgeous neon flags he’d posted up along the way, to lead them all safely back to camp - he engulfs Ben in a hug, tucking his chin over his shoulder. “Christ, I love you, Ben,” Richie says, as Ben pats him on the back.
  * “You too. And… sorry. I - I would’ve said something sooner, but it seemed like you guys needed to talk. I swear I could only _kind of_ hear?”
  * Stan’s mouth is pursed, but his eyes are smiling, when he rises and joins them. “That’s okay, Ben. Sorry neither of us - well, sorry _I_ stormed off. It wasn’t really Richie’s fault at all.”
  * “It’s okay, Stanny,” Ben says, wrapping an arm around both their waists to lead them back to camp. Richie and Stan plucking the flags from the trees as they pass. “I see a therapist, too, you know.”
  * “Yeah?” Richie asks, truly intrigued.
  * “Yeah. It’s hard. But it helps.”
  * Stan is smiling and shaking his head. “Thanks for holding out on me, you guys.”
  * Richie ducks his head back to look at Stan across Ben’s shoulders. Eyes light, but somehow serious all the same. Radiating what Stan can only read as a final, ‘I love you,’ before they return to the reality that he can’t actually be with Stanley, just yet, but still wants to… _He wants to_.
  * Stan bites into his lower lip, and gives a firm nod. He doesn’t have to be jealous… and if he holds out - if he works himself up to it and is brave… Richie’ll be there in a second, flat, and he knows that now. _He knows_.




End file.
